


Finding You

by carvingcavansite



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Domestic Fluff, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 01:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7598707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carvingcavansite/pseuds/carvingcavansite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the incidents regarding the return and reveal of the Winter Soldier, Steve has been a little more reckless. Thankfully, he always has Sam to rely on. Soon after Steve moves into Sam's home, they get a visit from a distant friend who's there to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Asshole Again

**Author's Note:**

> It's good to be back in the game.  
> Sadly, this series is not going to be very long. It was just a cute little drabble idea I had.  
> The schedule is the same as always: Wednesdays and Saturdays.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Again,” Sam called, raising his focus mitts once more, as Bucky hissed and shook his hands, blowing out with his cheeks inflated. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he was fueled with energy. He refused to wear mitts, leaving his knuckles bruised. Sam was visibly concerned, but left Bucky to his own terms. He couldn’t underestimate him, even as Bucky grew tired. He threw punch after relentless punch. Sam kept himself steady on the ground, and with every blow, readied himself for the next. 

Steve and Natasha would normally join the pair for training, but they were currently out of state, on their own missions, which Sam understood. They had their business, and Sam had his. Ever since Bucky had been welcomed as an Avenger, after they found him in Sam’s home one night, Steve had sworn to protect Bucky for as long as he needed to. So that meant he was also staying at Sam’s house, along with Steve, who had only recently before moved in with him. Sam wouldn’t admit that it had been pretty hard ever since Bucky came back. Sure, he understood the things Bucky had gone through. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that Steve’s focus had completely shifted. He treated Bucky with such attention, such care, such caution—it was almost pitiful. He could tell that Bucky was effected, too. Steve always checked to see if Bucky was still on their couch the first thing in the morning. Bucky could tell that Steve didn’t have faith in him, but Sam knew he couldn’t help it. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if he lost Bucky again. Sam wanted to prevent that, even if that meant making Steve set boundaries. It was for his own good. 

That was something he hoped to accomplish with Steve away. Sam and Bucky hadn’t talked much without Steve to help them, but he wanted to show Steve that he didn’t have to watch Bucky like a hawk. Perhaps if he and Bucky established a relationship on their own, Steve would back away just a bit. Sam would always be there to help watch after Bucky. Through the few weeks they’d been alone, plus the couple months that Bucky had returned, he thought they’d achieved that; They were on comfortable speaking terms, though their conversations never had much substance. They mostly joked around, or trained, but Bucky had moments that he’d go empty. Sometimes it’d last for days. Sam didn’t know how to help him. He wished he did. He couldn’t be there for him the same way that Steve could. 

They’d all suffered. But Bucky’s torment was silent, and Sam wasn’t sure how to help him through it. He only knew what Steve had told him. If he could only get Bucky to tell him as well… 

After the proper warm-ups, Sam and Bucky put their mitts away and got into position to spar. Sam couldn’t lie; he felt a little bit outmatched because of Bucky’s arm. He wasn’t going to go easy on him, because he knew Bucky wasn’t going to do the same. They stood across from each other on the matt, and once Sam called for Bucky, they circled one another with their arms raised. Bucky lunged forward and attempted to strike Sam in the abdomen with his right arm. Sam countered with his forearms, leaning into Bucky’s punch. He had a strong blow; Sam watched Bucky carefully, anxious to think of what he could do with his prosthetic. So far, luckily, he hadn’t used it. 

Bucky and Sam were at a standstill for what seemed to be hours. They threw hit after hit, and they didn’t pull their punches. Both were afraid of injuring the other, but they also didn’t want to be the end of the other’s aggression. Their skills were pretty matched, but Sam could see something primal, yet strategic, in Bucky that scared him. Sam knew he should trust Bucky, but… he wasn’t sure what to do if he had a meltdown and tried to beat him half to death. He… he wouldn’t do that, right? 

These thoughts were all that plagued Sam as he “danced” with Bucky. Hit, block, lunge, dodge, roll, tackle, throw. An endless cycle. Eventually, Sam was doused with sweat, breathing heavily, and his steps became slower and less energized. Bucky was perfectly fine, as per his supersoldier abilities. Sam cursed the fact that he wasn’t as powerful as them, as enduring, as able. But that just strengthened his resolve with the fact that he’d lasted this long in the first place. He was only a human, after all, up against an infamous Russian assassin that could heal seemingly instantaneously and, not to mention, had a metal fucking arm. 

_Can’t get cocky now…_

Just as this thought occurred to Sam, Bucky leaped forward and wrapped his arms around Sam’s torso and kicked the backs of Sam’s knees. The both of them thudded onto the ground, Bucky on top. Bucky was about to pin Sam’s arms to the matt, but Sam grabbed his metal arm and twirled the two around. Bucky struggled with his stomach pressed to the floor as Sam straddled his back, pulling his metal arm up to his shoulder blades. Bucky grunted, and Sam couldn’t tell if it was out of pain or frustration. For a moment he tried to pull his arm back, but as Sam pressed closer to him to render him motionless, Bucky gave up. Breathing heavily, he raised his right arm in defeat. 

Trying not to seem proud, Sam released Bucky and mumbled, “All right. That’s enough for today.” He stood and walked away, not sure how he was feeling about his victory. Was Bucky going easy on him? He’d experienced the power of that arm first-hand, and Bucky was probably able to get it out of one man’s hold. Either way, Bucky gave up for some reason. It really didn’t matter to Sam if he knew what that was. 

Bucky, wide-eyed and flushed, lay on the matt. Still on his stomach, he raised his left arm and looked at his trembling hand for a moment before pressing it to his chest. After a moment to recuperate he followed Sam into the locker room. 

Sam opened his locker and pulled out his duffel bag, throwing it onto the bench. He sat down with a huff and wiped the sweat off of his forehead. He glanced over to Bucky, who had turned away as he changed. He was hunched over, seemingly hiding himself. Sam didn’t think much of it until Bucky stripped his shirt; the skin along his metal arm was lined with scars that he hadn’t previously seen. His concern grew at the way his scars seemed strained by the spar, growing red and inflamed. Sam winced when he thought that he might have caused some of that when he had Bucky’s arm in a lock. He had never thought of the damage the supposedly indestructible robotic arm did to the very human, very fragile body attached to it. 

Sam gave a sigh and rummaged around in his bag. He grabbed a water bottle and stood, and as he walked to Bucky, Sam could see him go still, as if he’d turned to stone. He could tell that Sam had come near him. He exhaled, “Calm down. It’s just me.” 

He could hear Bucky gulp before he said, “I know.” 

Sam shook his head. “You should put something cold on those scars. I’m sorry I made you do so much today, I’ll make sure to think of that next time. Guess Hydra’s tech wasn’t perfect if it hurt you, right?” Sam took another step forward before raising hesitant hands, one falling on Bucky’s shoulder blade and the other pressing the water bottle to his torn tissue. Bucky’s shoulders raised in surprise, and his head bowed to look to the ground. 

Bucky didn’t speak, relaxing under Sam’s touch after a moment. He only muttered, in an even quieter voice than before, “It didn’t matter to them.” 

With an inhale, Sam said in almost the same volume, “It matters to me, at least. You’re with us now, okay? I can’t imagine what they’ve done—did—to you, but you can at least know it won’t happen again. If we have anything to say about it.” Sam rotated the bottle to a colder side; He could feel the warmth radiating off of Bucky’s skin, which had made the water lukewarm. Drops of water traveled down Bucky’s back, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. Bucky shook his head, as if speaking to himself, and turned. Sam winced when he saw that the tissue connected to the metal of his chest had ripped, reopening some scars. He wasn’t bleeding much, and he was already healing, but Sam felt responsible for causing Bucky pain nonetheless. He placed a hand near the wound, atop his scars. Bucky jumped, and Sam lowered his hand in apology, but Bucky silenced him with his eyes. Pleading, ice-cold eyes were frozen onto earthy, radiant ones. Bucky was asking desperately for something that Sam didn’t know, or couldn’t give. He didn’t know which one. 

Bucky kissed him. Sam wasn’t given any warning, or maybe Bucky’s eyes told him, asked him. Either way, Sam moved back. He didn’t show disgust, pity, surprise, any of it. Just honesty. And his answer was clear. Bucky showed many things: misery, confusion, regret. Instant regret that doubled and doubled, washing over Bucky’s expression like water. 

They stood there for moments they didn’t count, but they knew existed, agonizing silence that spoke too loudly. Sam and Bucky ran over each other’s words as they both tried to explain. Eventually, Bucky fell slack. His mouth stopped running as he knew there wasn’t a way to take back what he’d done, what his lips had done. He had given up on minimalizing his punishment, and he definitely expected one. Maybe Sam knew that, and that just made him want to comfort Bucky even more. But he couldn’t. He could only wonder what the thoughts running through Bucky’s mind were. Who knew? He could just be lonely, wanting physical affection in a world where he felt it was available. There was no telling how long it’d been since he’d felt the touch of another person. And if Bucky was interested in men? Imagine how lonely he would’ve been in his own time. That had to have been it. That had to be all it was. 

If he yearned for something else, something more… that could cause trouble. 

Sam stopped Bucky when he stepped away to leave. He started moving to wrestle himself from Sam’s grasp, but he felt something come from Bucky that forced him to stop: hope. Sam felt terrible that he had to strip him of that hope. But he couldn’t keep his own conscious clear if he kept this unspoken between the two of them. He had to know. 

“Listen, Bucky…” 

Bucky kept his eyes towards the door, placed on the tiles. He could see Bucky had prepared himself for the berating that was sure to come, but Sam wouldn’t let him think that for much longer. If he needed to beat it into him, he would rewrite the way that boy thought. He needed to learn he could trust Sam—not just Steve. 

“You don’t need to leave,” Sam’s jaw locked for a moment before breaking the news. “It’s just… trust me, I don’t mind that you’re interested. I’m flattered really, a little surprised. But I’ll have to ask you to not kiss me again. And it’s not you, please pursue all the guys you want, you’re definitely not hard to look at. I’m sure you’d make some man in this day and age very happy. I’m just… I’m already spoken for.” Bucky looked to him for a moment, guilt in his eyes, before he nodded with understanding. Sam took a deep breath in. “Can I tell you something? And you can’t let this get out. Media’d be on our asses.” Sam licked his lips as Bucky watched with anticipation. He couldn’t help but notice the fact Bucky hadn’t spoken a word in a while. “Steve is my partner. Thought you oughtta know, since you’d probably find out anyways.” 

No other words mattered. As soon as Sam had said Steve’s name, Bucky’s hand shot up to cover his agape mouth. His eyes darted to every possible place around Sam, thought clear in his creased eyebrows. He stepped away again, and when Sam grabbed his arm, Bucky didn’t hesitate to rip it from his hold. Sam called after Bucky, “Hey! It’s okay, he’s not going to get mad at-” 

But he watched as Bucky fled, looking physically sick, swinging open the locker room door, and stopped speaking. That’s when a thought struck Sam, that left him ridden with surprise: 

_He loves him._

It had been a few months before that Bucky had entered Sam’s home. It had been a few months before that something began that Sam couldn’t control, but in the end, wouldn’t have changed a thing. And a few months before… 

“Damn it, Steve, can you at least- Jesus!” Sam exclaimed as Steve continued to work at his clothes, despite the fact that Sam had yet to take off his shoes, and was nearly knocked over as he tried. 

“Sorry, Sammy. I’ll slow down,” Steve said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Sam laughed in response, feeling a bit left out seen as Steve was still fully clothed, and that didn’t seem to be changing. Sam still had his shirt and boxers left by the time Steve had pushed him against the wall in the entryway, and hooked Sam’s legs around his hips. 

After a few hours of recreation (work takes a lot out of a person), they laid together in Sam’s bed—which was really both of their’s. Boxes full of Steve’s belongings lay strewn about Sam’s living room space. He didn’t own much other than what S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him when he came to. He built his life back from the ground up, and now, he’d ditched the apartment they’d thrown him in and was moving in with Sam. He didn’t tell them, and he figured they shouldn’t care in the first place. It was the fact that he and his right-hand-man were a couple, together for almost 7 months, that he thought they’d be alarmed by. But they didn’t have to know that. 

Sam didn’t want to say he was proud of his boyfriend, but he’d be downright lying if he said he wasn’t. He just didn’t want his pride to come off as possessiveness. He never wanted it to seem like he “owned” Steve. He was Sam’s, yes, but he also belonged to Steve. 

They had plans to eat with Natasha the next morning. Nothing fancy. They just wanted to go out, and maybe get stalked by some cameras. Nothing much happened, as was normal. You could only get so normal with the crowd that Sam was acquainted with. Natasha nearly breaks a pervert’s finger, Steve introduces himself to random strangers and has lengthy conversations with them. Those were two morons he couldn’t live without. When the sun had set and their evening out was done, Natasha went her separate way as Sam and Steve drove home. Both men were looking forward to collapsing in their bed once they got home. Little did they know what would be waiting for them when they returned. 

“Buck?” Steve uttered, taking slow steps towards the silhouette in their kitchen. 

They didn’t answer. Sam could only see their faint features in the light shining from the moon into the glass door in the dining room. But both of them knew who it was. Sam stood back, watching cautiously as Steve stepped forward and continued to ask Bucky questions that were answered with silence. 

“You weren’t at your apartment. I couldn’t find you,” was the only thing Bucky said that night. Sam couldn't tell if the strain to his voice was misery. 

Steve nodded fervently and stepped towards Bucky. He grabbed Bucky’s shoulder’s and uttered, “I’m sorry. Sam and I are… roommates.” 

Sam watched the scene, still idly standing in the entryway. He didn’t know if Bucky had acknowledged his presence there, but he probably knew. He was just more attentive towards Steve. He didn’t want to be scared for he and Steve’s relationship. He knew that he and Bucky were like brothers. He _couldn’t_ be jealous. Both of them wanted to keep their relationship a secret, for the time being, from everyone except for their closest friends. Sam could deal with that. 

But the word ‘roommate’ didn’t hurt any less.


	2. Such a Stupid Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: I'm really really sorry I haven't updated in a long time!! I haven't had wifi for a while (I'm moving), so I haven't found anywhere I can post. I'm staying at a friend's, so after I leave I won't be able to post until I get internet again. But hopefully it won't be that long! Again, I'm really sorry in advance! 
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy~

“Bucky, where… where have you been staying?” Steve asked after turning on the kitchen light and coaxing Bucky into a dining chair. 

Bucky didn’t answer him, just kept his eyes locked onto Steve’s. Sam found it incredibly tense, and kept his eyes on Bucky and his body language. He didn’t seem like he was going to do anything reckless; he had hardly moved since Steve had sat him down. He looked disheveled, and he was wide-eyed, as if he were an animal backed into a corner. Maybe that was how he’d felt. That was all Sam could expect of him. He didn't know the possible hells that man had been through. 

Steve offered to make him something to eat, and Bucky quickly stood and said he didn’t want anything from them. Sam jumped slightly and kept his eyes on him, who began to tap his feet nervously. Steve didn't argue, afraid of scaring Bucky off, and said that he’d give him a pillow and a blanket to sleep on the couch with. Bucky didn’t wait for Steve to get them for him to go to the living room and sit down. 

After Bucky was settled (still sitting straight up on the couch, looking dead-eyed at nothing in particular), Steve came back from the living room looking particularly exhausted. Sam wasn’t sure where he fit into all of this, but he was damn sure he’d be there. Even if he couldn't help Bucky in any way, he'd do his best. He didn’t want Steve, the tower of the perfect man, who was perfectly flawed, to crumble. Not again. 

Steve heaved a heavy, worry-laden breath and placed his hands on his hips. He said, “I think, at least until he gets a place of his own, or finds somewhere else to stay, we need to sleep separately.” 

Sam looked at Steve like he had pulled the bullshit of the century. Which, honestly, he had. “Hell no. Just tell him we’re together. Why should it matter? He’s your best friend, right?” 

“That’s the thing. He’s… I don’t want to complicate things,” Steve pulled puppy-eyes, and Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Hang on. Let me just process the fact that you’re going to keep our being a committed couple a secret because he’s your childhood friend. Okay. Makes perfect sense,” Sam shrugged and feigned a look of understanding. 

“Sam, please… I’m sorry, but it won’t be for long,” Steve dipped his head and begged Sam once more. 

After a second to consider Steve’s thought process, Sam could understand where his fear had come from. They were both from a very different time, very different from the 21st century where people were encouraged to express themselves as they were. Though there were still those that would hinder the growth of these individuals, it was the best it had ever been before. Though Steve was also interested in women, he had to bottle in the attraction he felt for other men growing up. Being able to love women freely wasn’t any easier. That was what Sam had to tell himself: Steve wasn’t ashamed of their relationship, but his own orientation. Sam figured Steve still had that fear of prosecution, assault, even death, battered into his brain. Feeling safe mattered more, even if that meant Steve had to continue to hide from his childhood friend. 

Sam rolled his eyes and nodded. “Fine, but I’m not sleeping in the guest room.” 

The next morning, Steve called the rest of the Avengers to say that he’d found Bucky, and they were all safe. He emphasized the fact not to bring authorities. Everyone met them at Sam’s house later that afternoon, either to tell Steve how stupid he was or to welcome Bucky to the group (in Natasha’s case, both). The entire time, Bucky showed the same attitude to everyone but Steve. It showed Sam that he wasn’t the problem; it was the fact that he was relying too heavily on Steve. 'What would he do without him?' That dependency could destroy Bucky. Slowly, they worked through that. Though it wasn’t much time that he’d been back, he had seemingly opened himself up more to other members of the Avengers. Mostly Sam. Natasha still didn’t trust him yet, but that feeling was probably mutual. 

When Bucky first came back, he was paranoid and watchful of every little thing around him. He was distant towards everyone but Steve. Luckily, they’d fixed that problem somewhat, but as Sam looked back on the situation… was it really for the better? What had they really managed to do? Even as Sam felt that he could have prevented a lot of heartbreak between the three of them, he continued to think back to the night Bucky returned. Back then, Bucky was visibly miserable, and could only relax (if you could call it that) around one person that was constantly gone. That was the only thing that convinced him that things were better now instead of the way they were months before. 

Sam kept his promise: for the months that Bucky would have to stay with them, they had slept in separate rooms. 

Sam stood in the doorway to the kitchen and watched as Bucky quietly packed. He hadn’t anticipated that Sam would follow him back home after the incident in the locker room. Sam ran these thoughts through his head, wondering if it would have been best for him not to get close to Bucky. Even if it wasn’t a good idea, he couldn’t let him leave either. 

Sam walked into the room and called Bucky’s name, who immediately froze. He didn’t say anything to provoke or stop Sam. His body said he was ready to sprint away, but Sam continued to walk forward. He didn't move from his spot, thankfully. 

“Do you want to talk?” Sam said as he approached Bucky. 

Bucky nearly interrupted Sam as he said, “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“You know that’s not true. Look, if we can just-” Sam reached out and touched Bucky on the shoulder, who whipped around and slapped Sam’s hand away. 

Bucky immediately retracted his hands with an apology on his tongue, but it stayed there. Sam only sighed and perched his hands on his hips. Bucky finally began to speak. 

“I just… I wanted a chance. With you. I didn’t know you and him… I didn’t even know he was… He’s my best friend, you know?” A chuckle escaped him. “After all these years, I was just standing behind him and biding my time to maybe find someone else to,” he paused, choking on his thought before letting it loose, “…to love. I thought he was as straight as a guy could be, even though he was never interested in the women I picked out for him. I… I can’t really remember why I thought that. Maybe it was because of Peggy. Maybe it was because I couldn’t fathom that there was someone else like me. Especially if… it was someone so wonderful, you know?” Bucky’s glance dropped to the floor, and Sam’s followed. A question pestered the back of his mind. 

“So why me?” 

Bucky’s eyes shot back up to meet Sam’s. They quickly averted, riddled with shock and slight embarrassment, but mostly the guilt that seemed to plague Bucky. “I-I don’t-” He stammered, until eventually he steadied his voice. “I… won’t lie. I just… your company the past few weeks have just made me…happy. At first, I felt like I was supposed to be around you just because Steve was here, but now that he’s not, I found out you’re not half bad.” The both of them laughed light, burdening laughs. “I guess I read everything wrong. I haven’t had a lot of people care about me other than Steve, so when you came along, I assumed there was something else there. Don’t think… Just forget about it, okay? For my sake, and for Steve’s. I’ll stay, but I don’t want to ruin anything.” Even though Bucky wanted him to forget, Sam had a feeling that Bucky couldn’t do it himself. Maybe he could help him. Who knew? 

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked, another, lighthearted thought pressing the back of his mind, as he pushed a more destructive one away. “So it wasn’t just because I’m hot, right?” 

He couldn’t lie. He loved when he could make Bucky smile. 

Sam stood by the sliding glass doors in his kitchen with his cellphone pressed to his ear. He could hear the ringing in the back of his head as his thoughts ran rampant. He didn’t know why. He just needed to speak to Steve. He needed to hear his voice. It took a while for him to realize the call had already gone to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message, figuring Steve was busy and he shouldn’t have bothered him in the first place. As he looked at the dropped call, seeing Steve’s contact photo (a lovely photo of him and Sam), his phone suddenly erupted with Steve’s ringtone. Sam answered almost immediately, not exactly sure why his heart was jumping. 

Steve’s voice seemed groggy and slow. “Sam, babe! God, it’s good to hear from you.” 

Sam didn’t reply for a moment, listening to Steve speak. After snapping back into reality, he smiled and said, “You too, Steve. I’m sorry, were you busy?” 

“No, just asleep.” 

“Shit, that’s right! It’s like," he took a moment to check his own time, "5 in the morning over there. You should go back to sleep.” Sam shook his head, thinking he'd made a mistake, his smile falling. 

“I’m okay. I want to talk to you. Did you call for something?” 

Sam paused. “No, it’s nothing.” 

Steve drawled out, in a persuasive, ‘tell me what’s going on’ type of voice, “Saaaaaam.” 

Sam breathed a soft laugh, but it felt as if his heart were going to explode at the speed it was going. “Um…” _How the hell do I tell him about this?_ “Listen, something happened. But before I tell you, you have to promise me not to get upset. Or angry.” 

Sam could hear Steve shift on the other end of the phone. “You’re worrying me.” 

“Promise.” 

Steve hesitated and then sighed. "I promise." 

Sam wet his lips and spoke softly, figuring he should start easy. “I had to tell Bucky about us.” 

He could hear Steve groan lightly on the other end. There was another bout of silence before Steve asked, “Why?” 

“He…” 

Impatiently, Steve said, “Sam.” 

Sam caved. Eyes clenched, he confessed. 

“Bucky kissed me. But he didn’t know, he misread things. Please don’t be angry with him,” Sam was quick to explain, in fear that Steve would freak out if he misunderstood what happened. But Steve didn’t speak. The longer it took for him to answer, Sam felt more than guilt rise in his gut. “Steve?” 

He heard Steve gulp on the other end before he whispered, “He kissed you? I'm kind of confused. I didn't think he was... you know.” 

“Don’t think of it too much. I just didn’t want to keep this a secret from you.” 

Steve took a deep breath, obviously recomposing himself before saying, “Thank you. Just… why? Did he say anything?” 

Sam could feel this coming. He didn’t want to reveal their conversation, but he figured he should place his trust in Steve. Steve was his partner, and Bucky was Steve’s best friend. They shouldn’t let something so important sit silent between them, or it could tear them apart in the end. 

“He said,” Sam clicked his tongue and tried to calm his heart, “he said that he was scared.” 

“What's he scared of?” 

“Steve, he was scared of you, or what you’d think of him. He said I was the only person that cared about him besides you, so he thought I had other intentions. He’s in the same situation as you, Steve. He’s been terrified of being himself since he was a kid. When I told him you and I were together, and he found out you were interested in men as well, he wasn’t exactly okay. He almost left. Considering he's been terrified of letting you know about himself all this time.” 

“Why? Wouldn’t finding out make him feel better, not the opposite?” 

Sam rolled his eyes. _You’re absolutely clueless._ “Steve, he loves you.” 

Sam surprised himself with his bluntness. He didn't mean to let that slip so easily. _Well. Way to soften that blow._

When Steve didn’t answer, Sam began to speak again, a bit panicked, “Don’t worry about it. He’s going to stay. And it’s not as if he’s holding grudges. I’m sure he just wishes he could’ve known instead of spending so many years alone, you know? Who wouldn’t?” Steve still didn’t speak. Sam continued. “Listen, we’ll talk about it when you get back. With him. I hate being the middle man. Just don’t worry about it, okay? There aren't any harsh feelings. He’s not gonna try to murder me in my sleep. I don’t think.” He smiled, but it didn’t sit correctly. 

Finally, Steve shared his voice on the matter, after a seemingly one-sided conversation. He muttered, with a wisp to his words, “He really loves me?” 

At those desperate, broken words, Sam’s heart altogether stopped. He didn’t say another word and hung up.


	3. What the Fuck? ...What the Fuck?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You already saw this coming:
> 
> I AM SO SORRY!!!
> 
> I finally have functioning wifi. I did not abandon this story ;-; Hopefully no one gave up on it because I haven't updated in so long. But this story is getting there. It may be longer than I intended but I am completely okay with that. Because I am having so much fun so far. I will resume the Wednesday/Saturday schedule from now (I PROMISE!)
> 
> Thank you to whoever stuck with this :)

Sam hated his restless leg. Whenever he thought too much, which he was most certainly doing, it would go rapid-fire. Tap tap tap. Tapping, scratching, glaring at someone that didn’t deserve it. Bucky. Bucky sat across from him in a booth. He most certainly asked questions when Sam grabbed him ( _“Come on, we’re going out.” / “What? Why? Where are we going?” / “Out.”_ ), pulled him out of the house, and into Sam’s car. There had to be some explanation. Some way to fix this. Steve couldn’t… There’s no way he… 

“Sam.” 

Bucky’s clear, exhausted voice rang through Sam’s head and pulled him back into the diner. 

“Sam. Why are we here?” 

Again. His raspy, a little impatient, but tolerant nonetheless voice grounded Sam. Sam was confused. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, or what he’d even do about it if he knew what ‘it’ was. 

“I don’t know,” was all that Sam said, and he tried to swallow the knot in his throat. Was he about to cry? He shouldn’t cry. There was nothing to cry about. 

And then it occurred to Sam again. A sentence that he’d tried so hard not to hear, ever since he’d hung up on Steve. He felt like if he formed that sentence in his mind, that if the little voice in the back of his head read it loud and clear to him, it would somehow make it real. 

Steve loves Bucky. Buck loves Steve. They have ever since they were kids. And where did that leave Sam? 

“Sam?” Bucky’s eyebrows raised in concern, and his voice once again pulled him away from the pit before he fell into it. 

He wondered why Bucky was all of a sudden worried about him. And then Sam tasted the salt on his lips. He’d started crying. He quickly wiped his tears away, and no more fell. 

“Sam, you always tell me to talk to you. You have to do the same with me if we’re going to trust each other. Why are we here?” 

Sam thought about telling Bucky. And then he tucked that thought deep, deep into the crevices of his mind. He let a little smile grace his lips. “We’re man-hunting.” 

Lunch hour came as Sam tried making conversation and Bucky tried making silence. 

“You’ve got to have a type,” Sam said as he watched Bucky look out upon the crowd that lulled in and out of the diner. 

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. I, um… I never really looked at other men. Other than,” he glanced at Sam, just for a fleeting second, and let his words come to an abrupt stop. Sam definitely noticed the gesture, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Or maybe he should, just out of spite. 

_No. No, we’re not starting that._

“Well, let’s see.” Sam pointed at a slightly older man, with gray hair along his temples and a clean, peppered beard. He had nicely tailored clothes, which fit snug to his frame. Broad shoulders, thin limbs, strong jaw… He was possibly on break, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. “Professor type. Anything spark there?” 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to the man, and he looked back in embarrassment, as if he’d been caught staring. “…No. Not really.” 

“Seriously? Come on, the dude’s a total DILF,” Sam said with a fabricated look of surprise. He couldn’t help it; he loved teasing Bucky. 

“DILF?” Bucky’s eyebrows creased. 

Sam’s mouth hung agape. “Are you sure you’re gay?” 

Bucky looked around nervously and with a lowered voice said, “Yes, just, really old. And would you please keep it down?” He raised his hands towards Sam discreetly. 

“Okay,” Sam said, sitting forward in his seat, leaning across the booth. He had a matter-of-fact tone to his voice. “Rule number one of living in the 21st Century: Don’t be afraid of yourself. You are too damn scared that people are gonna riot in the streets if you fuck a man. If anything, people here are gonna celebrate you for being gay. It’s just kind of how it is now. Don’t be stupid.” Sam reached across the table and flicked Bucky on the forehead. Before Bucky had time to whine, complain, groan, or all of the above, Sam turned back to the restaurant-goers. “All right. Now that that’s settled, look again. And you _can’t_ tell me none of them are attractive to you.” 

Bucky took a deep breath in and out, steadying the shaking in his left hand, that Sam had only noticed. He was hiding his right hand in his pocket. His eyes scanned the people walking outside, the people at other tables and booths, and then his eyes stopped dead their tracks at the bar. There was a man leaned over the counter, and it showed in the tight-fitting athletic shirt he wore. Dark skin, black hair, muscular in almost every way. His shoulder blades were outlined in the wrinkles in his shirt, and his jawline could cut someone. 

“Nice,” Sam said, nodding. “I guess by now we can assume you like beef?” Bucky looked away again, while Sam could only smile. “So,” he said, standing, “let’s go talk to him.” 

Bucky’s right hand shot out and grabbed Sam’s arm in the crook of his elbow. 

“No.” 

Sam’s eyes widened. He sat back down, but Bucky’s hand stayed there. He wasn’t sure if it was out of comfort, or if he was trying to prevent Sam from getting up again. “All right. So, phase two: talking to hottie, failed. I’m surprised we made it through the first phase: getting you to look at another man and admit you may or may not like to fuck said man.” 

_“Sam!”_

Sam laughed. “I know, I know. I’ll shut up.” 

\-- 

“Oh. My. God.” 

Natasha’s face when she saw Bucky and Sam casually in one another’s company without Steve there was priceless. At least, Sam thought it was. He was going to rub this in Nat’s face as much as he could. “Oh, it happened all right. Buck and I are best buddies. We even made bracelets.” Sam and Bucky were on his living room couch, and Natasha decided to invite herself in. She’d just come home, in one piece as always. Steve couldn’t say the same. 

“Damn. You beat me to him. I was gonna gain his trust and use him as a weapon.” Natasha shook her head as she sat down in a lounge chair near the two men. 

“Shh! That’s a touchy subject,” Sam pressed a finger to his lips and shushed Natasha. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You guys talk as if I’m not here.” 

“Trust me, you aren’t,” Natasha said and picked up Sam’s mug of coffee (she ignored Sam as he muttered, “Okay, I guess I wasn’t drinking that…” and took a sip). “Anyways, I’m not here because you guys are my only friends that are currently in the country. Sorry to say, but I’m not here for a little chat. I’m only back for ten days to recuperate and reassemble before I head out again. And you’re both coming with me. Also, you put cream in your coffee? Blech.” 

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Bucky said, sitting forward. 

“Did I stutter?” Natasha said, but didn’t let Bucky continue. “We uncovered some more shit while I was there, and there were a few murders, that I am bound under contract not to say whether or not I committed them, and those murders angered some people, and now there’s some military classes moving in. You know, just a normal,” she checked her phone, “Tuesday. This isn’t undercover, like I’ve been working. We’re suiting up.” 

“Without Steve?” Sam asked, his interest also peaked. 

“Sorry, but your hubby won’t be joining us. Don’t worry about him; he’s not doing anything dangerous. He should be the one concerned for you two. Anyways,” she said and took another swig of coffee, as well as a tart from the table, “I’ve gotta head out. I’m tired. Hope you guys are ready for some fun.” 

And just like that, she was gone as soon as she’d come. 

“So. Seems like we’ll be going in tomorrow.” Should he call Steve? No, surely he knows already…but, he should still say goodbye, or try to apologize for before. No. No, he shouldn’t be the one apologizing. 

Now he was going on call with Bucky. Steve would probably get home before the two of them do. Both of his ‘boys’ would be gone. Then, maybe, he’d have time to think things over rationally. Steve couldn’t leave Sam. _We just…we just moved in together. He can’t. Besides, Bucky… wouldn’t do that to me. Or Steve. Would they?_

He couldn’t leave. 

Bucky wasn’t very happy. Sure, he was doing this to be in the field again in the first place, but Sam knew he didn’t expect it this soon. Or without Steve. They were always together in war, and Sam knew Bucky wanted it that way again. How things were. It was comforting to know how someone was when they were out fighting. Sam knew that all too well. 

Sam got a call from Steve later that night. He let it ring for a bit, and as he stared at the screen, he was left with a sour taste in his mouth. It stopped ringing. Not long after his voicemail played, the screen lit up again, and Sam saw that damned picture of them again, and he pressed _ignore_. He didn’t get another call. 

Sam and Bucky both counted down the days until the leave date. They were back to training with Natasha, and she rightfully kicked both of their assess. Natasha said they needed to be prepared; the “big man” in charge landed a punch on her. Most of their free time was spent going over the mission details, researching records and files, and figuring out their next move. Who all could be involved? Any alliance/connection to HYDRA? Were there any unnatural elements? What patterns do they leave, what tracks have they not carried up, where else have they been, etc.? And most important: body count. They had to know how dangerous these guys were before diving headfirst into battle, and what kind of damage they might do to get themselves out of the pit. 

Sam woke up one night to find Bucky mulling tirelessly over a pile of papers. He was sitting cross-legged in front of the coffee table, surrounded by scattered files. Bucky was looking for any information he could to prepare. When his mind searched for information, he got a little scary. Sometimes Sam was worried he’d lose himself in all those words, some in other languages (which Bucky had no problem reading), detailing tales of destruction and loss. Sam was sure this was nothing new to Bucky. Sam was worried he would spiral down a well of memories and harm that he couldn’t pull himself out of. Sam wanted to beckon Bucky off the ledge. 

Sam spoke softly, rubbing his tired eyes. “Have you gone to sleep yet?” 

Bucky froze for a moment, as if he was thrown out of his haze, and then continued to scan the page he was holding. “No.” 

“Buck.” Sam said it before he realized, but wouldn’t take it back. The nickname really did fit him. 

“I’ll be fine. We only have one more day before we ship out. I need to look over this. I can run for 3 days.” 

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, ducking out of the living room and back into the kitchen. He filled two glasses with sweet tea and strolled back into the room. Bucky had already fallen back into the words that seemed to swirl around his head in a cyclone. Sam sat down next to him on the floor, hearing the crumple of documents under him, but not giving a shit. He crossed his legs just as Bucky did. Bucky didn’t seem to notice him. He said nothing and held the drink out in front of Bucky’s face, blocking his view of the paper. Bucky jumped slightly, and, once he’d settled back into his place on the floor of Sam’s living room, leaned against the couch, wedged in between it and the coffee table, Bucky sighed and placed the packet he was holding on the table. Sam smiled as Bucky took the glass hesitantly, as if he were afraid of it. Sam could feel Bucky’s warm hands on his cold fingers, slick with condensation. He tried not to think anything of it and didn’t make a big show of withdrawing it. 

Bucky seemed to be avoiding looking at Sam. His body was practically screaming, asking Sam to leave Bucky alone. But Sam refused and sat right next to him, because he knew Bucky needed him, and he damn well needed Bucky. 

They sat and drink. Bucky took small sips. Sam had finished his glass, and had set it on the table, but he still sat there with Bucky, in the room lit up by a single lamp and the moon outside, and didn’t say a single word. He didn’t need to. He probably shouldn’t. Bucky set his glass on the table. He didn’t finish it. And with Sam there, he didn’t do any more work. 

Sam didn’t realize the sun had peered out over the horizon, which seemingly floated into the room through the curtains, painting both of them in a pale gold. Perfect, perfect silence. That’s all their company needed. Sam’s eyes hung heavily. He leaned his head back on the couch behind them and pulled up one of his legs against his chest. He faced Bucky, who was sitting straight up with his eyes nearly closed. On the window side, Bucky’s frame was outlined by the rays melding into the room. His hair was tousled and tangled, as he refused to brush it. His eyes staring, thinking, swimming in the blue of the morning sky that he looked out on. Nearly clear, except for the eyelashes that brushed against the tops of his eye sockets, and just for once, Sam thought, they weren’t as sunken as the years of restlessness and torture had made them to be. His lips pursed in comfort and anxiety. He sat slouched, his shoulders hunched, his shirt pulling against his frame, his chest moving and breathing and glowing and smooth. Sam smiled and told himself, _I’ll just rest my eyes for a little bit._

He didn’t want to miss out on that sight. 

Sam didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but when he woke up the sun had moved above view of the window. The house was hot and silent. Sam looked over and couldn’t describe, or even think of the emotion he felt when he looked over and saw that Bucky had fallen asleep facing him, also leaned against the couch. His hand lay between the two of their bodies, as if waiting for the piece to fit it. 

Sam tried shaking him awake. He didn’t budge. Sam could’ve mistaken him for a corpse if it weren’t for the warmth he gave off. _How long has it been since he’s slept?_

Sam didn’t know what came over him when his next option was to hook his arm under his knees and lift him bridal-style to lay him down in the makeshift bed they’d made for him on Sam’s couch. Bucky still didn’t stir. He pulled the spare comforter over him, and sat back to look at him. Bucky finally moved, grunting a tiny grunt as he brought his right arm up to lay on the pillow beside his head. His hair weaved through his fingers, spayed about the pillow behind his head. His head lay sideways, exposing the smooth, olive skin of Bucky’s neck. The knot in his neck bobbed as Bucky licked his lips and let his mouth lie open. 

Sam didn’t know that he had been pretending to sleep when he kissed Bucky.


	4. The Mile High Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the update was slightly late this Wednesday, but I couldn't get it posted Tuesday night like I would've preferred!
> 
> (here comes my excuse, like always) I accidentally left my fanfiction journal (where I write drafts) at my boyfriend's house overnight, and I only got it back a few hours ago Σ(‘◉⌓◉’)  
> I had to hurry to copy the draft and then edit and post it!! (I know, I know, apologies, excuses, promises, apologies...) 
> 
> But anyways, please enjoy this chapter, posted at the literal last minute! I tried to get this out as soon as possible so please, please tell me if there are any errors!

Sam sat at his dining room table. There his leg went again—tap, tap, tap. He held his head in his hands, staring through the cracks in his fingers at his phone, lying face-down on the table. After a moment of steadying himself, he turned it over. He looked at the lock screen. Another fucking picture of him and Steve. 

What the hell was he thinking? He should call Steve. He should apologize right then and there, instead of sitting there boiling in his own guilt. He knew what he’d done. But he didn’t have an idea of why. 

The screen turned off from inactivity. He lost the image of him and Steve, back before Bucky came back and Sam started to lose his mind. He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t want to lose Steve, more than anything—but there Bucky was. Something Sam couldn’t describe. There Bucky was, something broken and something to be feared. Maybe that he’d steal Steve away. 

Was it the loss of both of them that scared Sam the most? 

The sun had begun to rest its head on the buildings reaching skyward. And there Bucky was, standing in the walkway to the kitchen, watching Sam intently. Sam didn’t realize it until he heard the shuffling of his feet on the wooden floors. Sam looked up. Bucky’s matted hair was even worse since he’d gone to sleep. Sam couldn’t tell what his own expression was, but he was sure it was something akin to confusion, or terror, or awe, or haplessness, or all of them mashed in to a wretched, miserable face. 

Bucky walked to him and Sam turned in his chair to face him. Bucky looked down at him for a moment, not directly at him, but in his air. He placed his hand, his cold, metallic, rigid hand on Sam’s. Bucky’s robotic, living, moving hand. Sam could convince himself that it was warm. He stood there, leaving Sam in restlessness, and brushed his thumb softly against his knuckles. Bucky dropped to his knees hesitantly and, even more so, wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist. Sam laid his arms on Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him into his chest, letting his lips fall into Bucky’s tangled, beautiful hair. Sam didn’t say anything. Bucky did. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Sam opened his eyes (he didn’t realize they’d closed. How long had they been like this?). _Me, too,_ Sam thought about saying. But he didn’t. Instead, he uttered, readjusting his mouth against Bucky’s hair, “What are we going to do?” 

Bucky say didn’t anything. Neither of them did for a while. Bucky was the only one who could think of something to say in the first place. “Call Steve.” 

Sam knew what Bucky meant. He didn’t want things to progress. He didn’t want to ruin things between him and Steve. Sam didn’t want that either. He wanted Bucky. He _needed_ Steve. He just needed to see him again, be able to touch him, and be reassured that Steve wouldn't leave him. 

What a fucking mess they’d gotten themselves into. 

“Hello?” 

Sam didn’t expect Steve to pick up that fast. 

“Steve,” Sam said, half-relieved and half-terrified. 

There was a second of silence, as if the both of them were working through what to say or waiting for the other to say something first. 

Steve did. “Sam. Baby. It’s good to hear your voice. I…I tried calling you.” 

“I know,” Sam said in return, with no excuse to back it up. 

Steve took a second. Sam could only hear his soft breathing and then a small, “I’m glad you called.” 

“I am, too,” Sam said, not really sure if he was telling the truth. 

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he said slowly, with a bit of hesitation in his voice. Sam noticed. “I can’t,” followed by a sigh and the sound him sitting down, and, “I can’t believe I said what I did. And I just—I just wish you could’ve stayed for a second longer so I could’ve realized that and explained. And I did try to call you.” 

_Is this.… Is he blaming me? How is he supposed to explain that any other way?_ ‘Baby, I love you, but I still get excited at the prospect of my best friend being in love with me. What do you expect? He was here first!’ _He’d probably say_ ‘baby,’ _too. Fucker. — But, I did hang up on him, and he stopped calling because I wouldn’t answer! — Then he’d probably say,_ ‘Well, at least I wasn’t the one that kissed him.’ _Fucker. — But, he has every right to be angry when he finds out!_

Sam stayed quiet. Just quiet. These thoughts competed in his head and out of his pursed lips came silence. 

_Ride it out, pretend everything’s okay, and it will be._

“Look, I… I’m coming home in three days. We can talk then. Okay?” Steve said when he’d gotten no answer. 

_Should I tell him I won’t be there?_

“Okay.” _He'll find out anyways. Why start another argument?_

“Okay baby. I love you. Bye-bye.” 

“Bye.” Sam hung up. 

\-- 

Sam sat with his head hung in place, staring at the metal grated floor of the carrier plane. He, Bucky, and Natasha were flying overhead Romania on their assignment. Bucky looked to him with an air of concern about him. What could he say? 

He should’ve told Steve. 

After two more hours of flying, they came to their drop point. The back of the plane opened, and Bucky and Natasha readied their parachutes. Sam checked his gear, opened and closed his wings to check if they were working properly, and set his goggles firmly over his eyes. Natasha and Bucky jumped, dropping to the ground. Sam jumped as well, but instead soared over the pair. He immediately began scanning for threats that neither of his partners could see. His system locked onto something about 200 yards from the main patrolled area, high in a watchtower. 

“Stay clear of the right, there’s a mounted machine gun! I’ll take care of it,” Sam shouted through the wind barreling in his ears. He aimed with his eyes, locking his target onto the station, and touched the launchers on his wrist that sent two small, silent, guided missiles towards it. Just a few seconds of waiting, and there was a bright flash of light. Even if there wasn’t a man in the tower waiting to mow someone down, the gun would be too damaged to use. But unfortunately, and expectedly, their cover was blown. But that was fine; They weren’t going in quiet. 

Sam began to slowly circle the skies above the area, keeping a careful eye out for his companions, who were making headway on the ground, while he watched for threats from in the air. He knew others could be coming because they’d alerted all their ground soldiers by now. And as soon as he’d had the thought, he heard the rhythmic beats of helicopter blades. He saw one slowly approaching them over the hillside. He quickly flew to it, hoping it didn’t get too close to the base before he took it down. 

He took careful time to avoid the blades and flew underneath it. He eased up, grabbing the skids. He retracted his wings and raised himself further up onto firmer ground, just below the entrance of the copter. He saw a man immediately inside the side door of the helicopter, readying a turret. Sam reached up, grabbed his ankle, and pulled him out of the opening. The man fell to the earth, leaving a trailing scream until he deployed his parachute. This alerted one man in the helicopter, who ushered over to the door. Sam jumped into the helicopter and immediately had a hand to the man’s throat. He pushed him against the wall of the aircraft, then once more, harder, knocking him out. 

As he walked to the cockpit, he felt thick arms wrap around his throat. Sam struggled, holding them tightly with his hands to keep them from fully restricting his breathing. After realizing he couldn’t pry them away, Sam prepped himself and, taking as little time as possible, released one hand and elbowed the soldier in the side. The soldier wavered in his grip for just a moment, which gave Sam enough leeway to break from his grip. He turned quickly, raising his arms in defense. He tried to ignore the stinging in his throat. The two circled one another for a moment. The soldier suddenly dropped his hands and charged at Sam, probably aiming to throw the both of them out of the helicopter, but Sam kept himself aware and reacted instantly. He bent his knees, extended one leg, and swung it around in a sweeping motion to tangle in the man’s legs. The man slammed onto the floor, and before he had time to recover, Sam swiftly brought his foot down onto the man’s head. 

Sam turned back to the pilot, who, with his muffling headphones, had heard none of the skirmish behind him. He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck from behind, pulling him against the chair. The helicopter began to move erratically, but Sam didn’t panic. Soon, the floundering man slumped in his chair, veins protruding in his forehead, and his face beet red. Sam jumped into the copilot’s seat and began to take the aircraft over, easing it back into control and into a steady altitude. He planned on crashing it—he just didn’t want there to be collateral damage. 

He aimed it uphill, and far from the bunker site. He pointed the nose of the helicopter down and stood from the seat, hurrying to the sliding door. He took a moment, breathing, and readying his equipment once more, before he jumped from the craft. He was closer to the ground than he would’ve preferred when he opened his wingsuit. 

When he was finally comfortably flying in the air once more, he took another sweep of the land. On one corner of the mountainside, far and barely visible, Sam's goggles saw something. Multiple lights spread on its monitor. Targets lit up, all pointing in the same general direction. Sam followed their lights, and the view zoomed further in to enhance his line of sight. His heart jumped when he saw a swarm of military vehicles making their way along a dirt path cut into the landscape. 

“Multiple units coming in. We need to head inside, _quick,_ ” Sam yelled, full of caution as he watched the trail of SUVs make headway across the hills cluttering the plains. 

“Natasha’s already gone inside!” Sam could hear Bucky's voice in his headset. 

“All right, I’m touching down!” Sam nosedived towards the earth and, just before collision, reared upwards and eased himself onto solid ground. As he was running along the asphalt already, he kept that momentum and flew past the troops that littered the ground. It seemed the two of them took quick care of all of them. Sam caught up to Bucky and finally slowed himself. He eased a slow, charitable hand on Bucky’s shoulder, at which he whipped around to face Sam. Sam held steady. 

“You all right?” Sam asked, taking but a moment out of the mission, so it was just him and Bucky. Nothing other than his blue, eager eyes, which hungered for action, but were deprived. Sam was sure that battling brought something out in Bucky that he’d long tried to keep concealed. Bucky, shivering with adrenaline, kept his wide, hyper-focused eyes unblinking and nodded. Sam returned the gesture and muttered, “All right. Let’s go.” 

They ran into the bunker. Down, down, down they went, with surprisingly no soldiers to greet them. They hadn’t found the target or any sign of his subordinates, so they followed the tracking system attached to Natasha and hoped she’d found something. 

“This place is a fucking maze,” Sam whispered, but if Bucky could’ve heard it in the first place, it was drowned out by their feet clanking with every step on the metal floors. The floors were mesh grid metal, so the two watched not only in front of and behind, but above and below. Steel crates were stacked up in the hallways, contents unknown. They were too secured to force open without a code. Sam took a mental note to mention that later. 

Bucky was deathly quiet. The entire time, he kept his pistol firm in his hand and his arm level. Sam kept finding himself nervously glancing at him every once in a while. 

Bucky stopped. His eyes didn’t move, but his jaw clenched, as if he were listening for something Sam missed entirely. But then Sam heard it. The sound of a magazine being loaded into a gun. The two men turned around, and as soon as a gun was raised, Sam shouted a curse and went to expand his wings to protect the both of them, as much as they could have. All that happened seemed to pass in a decade, moving like someone sprinting through a heavy flowing stream, though it only happened in a matter of seconds. 

Sharp. Sharp pain. Like something inside of Sam being snapped and put back together incorrectly. Heat, burning, hissing pain in his chest. His ears rang loudly, so loudly, drowning out the sound of more gunshots and shouts. When had he sat down? He saw flashes of light, in the midst of a blurry ocean of red and gray, and he thought of bullets, and then he saw a face, a face arched over him, and more lights, and the face was gone. _Bucky?_ He felt like he was going to vomit. Maybe he did, or he was just dry-heaving. He touched the source, and looked at his fingers, which came back slick with blood. _It’s my heart,_ Sam thought, and vomited, or dry-heaved, and then that face was back, and Sam was shaking, and then he was gone. The face was gone. His feeling was gone. Everything was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: omg I just realized I was trying to get this chapter out so fast I forgot to title it


	5. Coming Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes below is kind of dramatic and long, for anyone okay with that.
> 
> \--
> 
> So, this return isn't exactly like the others. This chapter has been in the works for some while. Too long, really. Something happened that kind of... hit this part of me that makes me want to throw this story down a hole and bury it. I just couldn't really touch this story any more. I wanted to finish it so badly just to get it over with and I didn't want to rush it, but that meant it would take a lot of time. I didn't want this story to end feeling cold. But, to do that, I had to change the ending that I originally wanted for it. I couldn't separate what had happened apart from Finding You. 
> 
> It wasn't the exact events, obviously. My boyfriend (yes, the same one I left my writing notebook with accidentally) and I had gone through something similar, however. I had someone that called me their best friend. We'll name them Alex. One particular night while we were staying the night with each other, while I was sleeping, Alex was messaging my boyfriend, sending him pictures of themselves, coercing him to cheat on me. Their advances weren't accepted, but my boyfriend didn't tell me for a while because Alex and I grew closer and closer. Life continued on as normal between us, while they and my boyfriend knew something that would inevitably destroy me. Alex, in their rejection, tried to convince me that my relationship with my boyfriend wasn't very good (example: complaining about their boyfriend and then asking me to do the same). Alex spread rumors about him wanting to break up with me, and him saying dirty things. All to everyone but me, who, if Alex were honest, would be the only person they would tell. My boyfriend refused to speak with or be around Alex, but I didn't really notice it. He would tell me he didn't feel comfortable with me getting close to Alex. And then I would defend them. I wouldn't listen to a fucking warning. I should've. It was during one of those conversations that he told me what had happened. I hadn't felt such a deep sadness in a long time. Such a vast emptiness. I felt tricked. I felt humiliated. I felt just... stupid. All that time, my friendship with Alex had meant nothing. I felt like a moron for not knowing. I try to tell myself I couldn't have known. Why? Why was Alex willing to risk me for something new? Something different? Do I mean nothing to even the people who I think are closest to me? This was all I could think about. The secret that was kept from me. The lies. The smiles I still shared with them, oblivious to what went on while I was sleeping. The whispers they passed on to people I knew. I didn't know who was my friend anymore. I'm still not sure if I do.
> 
> Therein lies the tie to this story. I can't help but imagine myself in the same situation as these characters, one that I'd put them in with no knowing what would happen. There are obvious, enormous differences, but I can't help it. I feel the same embarrassment and betrayal as I did before when I try to write this story. I start thinking. I get sick. And I stop. I originally wanted this to be a poly story, where Bucky and Steve rekindle their love for each other, Sam and Steve continue their long-term relationship, and Sam and Bucky slowly fall in love. But thinking of writing that ending, with us as the characters, put such a terrible, sour taste in my mouth. I tried to think of them as just that. Characters. But no matter how hard I tried, one thought would spark into a raging fire. I feel like that would have come through in my writing. The feeling would be angry, though its words would be joyous. So... I decided it was best to change my ending to the more realistic outcome. One more like I experienced.
> 
> It may not seem like it would be such a big deal. But there is something to be understood here: every bit of intimacy in my writing comes from my partner. Any poetic, elaborate feeling is something I have felt. You will say this is sappy, but he is the thing that brought me out of the darkness I'd made for myself. It may sound sad that I can't imagine what my life would be if I lost him. Really, I can't imagine one. That same darkness would swallow me a hundredfold. And for a friend, a dear friend, to know this, and to be willing to ruin that? To disregard the consequences, who they might hurt, and our friendship? ...  
> And for what?
> 
> Now, my boyfriend is my fiancé. And I'm working on it, and myself. I still think about Alex a lot, and what I could've done to prevent it. If I could've been a better friend. But I've wasted enough time on tears, and enough writing space. My deluge is done. Thank you for your patience.

_Am I awake?_

Sam couldn’t see anything. Everything was dark, but Sam could feel his eyes open. He felt the air touching his eyes, making them water. He blinked out the tears and wondered if he could see his hand if he held it up. Then, he realized, he couldn’t move. His breathing started to pick up, and he noticed he couldn’t hear. For a moment, he wondered if he was dead.

_Where am I?_

He clenched his eyes shut, suddenly afraid he was. Or he was stuck somewhere in between, unable to get out. He didn’t know which one scared him more. He heard slight knocking, and he tried to clench his fingers, but he was unsure if he did or not. He saw the veins in his eyelids, and behind them dim light. The knocking had turned into his heart pounding in his ears. It didn’t sound healthy, but the fact he was regaining his senses reassured him nonetheless. He could hear the slight whirring of a machine, and something else cut through the noise:

“Sam?”

Sam opened his eyes again. For a moment, he was blinded by the lights of the airplane’s medical wing, even though he’d only opened his eyes slightly.

“Sam? How are you feeling?”

Sam grunted in response to whoever was talking to him, wishing he could see them instead of hear them. Everything was muffled in a way that he could still understand someone, but on the brink of it. It hurt his head to have to focus on every individual word spoken around him.

Soon enough, his eyes focused to the light, and with squinted eyes, Sam looked over to Bucky, who waited patiently by his bedside, keeping his distance. At seeing his companion, or _whatever_ he was, Sam began to cry. Bucky ejected himself from his seat and kneeled by the cot Sam lay in. Sam tried to reach over, to touch him, to make sure he was there, but the movement pained his entire body, especially his chest. That was when Sam began to take his eyes off Bucky and observe the room he resided in.

You would’ve thought he was electronic, the way he was wired up to multiple machines, including an IV that periodically reminded them of its presence with a small _drip_. His heartbeat sounded steady enough. His head was still throbbing to that beat. His eyes wandered to the source of his pain. His injury was only a bloodied bandage now, but he knew underneath that there was a cavern beneath his skin that barreled towards his heart. Sam was sure it didn’t make it all the way there, or…

Sam slowly turned his head, which was really the fastest he could manage. “What happened?”

Bucky licked his lips, which had been hanging open in anticipation, and breathed as if to say something. He finally exhaled, and whispered, “You were clinically dead for seven minutes.”

Sam only blinked. His eyes seemed to shoot past Bucky, before they turned back to the ceiling with his head. Bucky reached out with his right hand and grabbed Sam’s. He looked to Bucky’s hand, which he couldn’t feel as well as he’d hoped. Sam shifted his body closer towards the side of his bed and looked up. Bucky gave him a small smile at the invitation and cautiously lay down beside him, avoiding Sam’s wires.

“I killed everyone in there, you know. After they shot you. There were so many but it happened so fast I didn’t notice until I was surrounded by bodies,” Bucky kept his eyes on Sam’s hand, which he was lightly grazing his fingers over. Sam thought about whipping up to look at Bucky in surprise, but he knew Bucky didn’t need that from Sam. He already knew, somewhere in his head. “It felt like help came too late and like ages when they wheeled you into surgery. They said the bullet had gotten lodged in the lining of your heart and you wouldn’t have come back if it had gone any deeper.”

Sam grabbed the hand that had been fidgeting around during Bucky’s story. Bucky stopped speaking and readjusted his head closer to Sam’s. They met eyes and stayed that way. Maybe in Sam’s head they had gotten closer, because he could feel Bucky’s breath on his lips. Or maybe it had always been that way.

“We didn’t even end up finding him. The reason that we came. The reason you’re lying in this bed. But at that point, I didn’t care. I just wanted to get you out of there. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do looking back on it, but… I had you… thrown over my shoulder, dangling towards the ground. With a bullet in your goddamn heart. God, thinking about it now really makes me feel like I severely fucked up. But no, I hauled you on my shoulder holding a pistol in my other hand. Then Natasha found me. I nearly shot her.”

Bucky made a noise like a scoff, though he didn’t exactly mean to. It was more or less to himself. “You know, she was acting like she was taming a wild animal. A fucking… _feral_ animal.”

Bucky’s eyes had dropped at that point, refusing to see Sam’s out of fear that he would realize just exactly what he was saying. What he was sharing. He wanted to feel as if he was separated from Sam, so that confessing wouldn’t be so hard. Sam wanted to be right there with Bucky, and to know everything in his mind, working and moving and alive. He wanted to know what troubled him so deeply, and he wanted Bucky to tell Sam, not just the person lying with him. Sam didn’t want to be a stranger. He didn’t want to be separated.

Sam touched Bucky’s chin, lifting his face in hope that his eyes would follow. They did, with a measure of difficulty. He held him, just like that.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

They heard the sound of a throat being cleared from the doorway. Their heads both whipped around in that direction, greeted by a red head with a red face.

“Steve has been waiting all day for a phone call from you, so he knows you’re alive. Just in case you’ve forgotten about him,” Natasha said curtly, not giving Sam time to react before she turned sharply, her curls flying about. Her heels clicked on the metal floors as she walked down the hallway.

Bucky got up from Sam’s bed, and Sam didn’t argue. He didn’t have the heart or the stomach to. The look on Natasha’s face alone made him want to vomit with guilt. Bucky reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved Sam’s phone, and then silently handed it to him. He left as Sam looked for Steve’s contact. Sam saw his picture again, of both of them, and felt his stomach churn. He knew it was wrong, all of it. So he didn’t hesitate to tap on the image and held the phone up to his ear.

Steve picked up almost immediately.

“Hello, Sam? Sam, baby, how are you feeling?”

Sam smiled. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

The carrier touched down approximately three hours later, and Steve kept Sam on the line the whole time. They didn’t find a lack in things to talk about. Sam kept track of how many times Steve apologized, and lost count after about twenty-eight. Sam was moved onto a gurney and wheeled out of the aircraft in the landing plane at headquarters. He heard heavy footsteps and soon enough Steve was right beside him, tears in his eyes. The next couple hours were a boring blur of paperwork, medical checks, and ended with Sam admitted into a hospital. The only thing they could do for him after that was give him pain medication and sleep.

Sam felt as if he didn’t quite get the Avengers standard of medical attention, considering most members were doted on and healed in a matter of days. He, however, got dumped at a regular old hospital, with regular old doctors and regular old technology. He even got a goddamned infection in his time there. Sam tried to ignore it, but every day of the month he spent lying in that hospital bed seemed longer and longer. The only thing really keeping him from going insane was Steve. Steve was in his room nearly 24/7, sleeping on the couch, bringing Sam some food other than the shit the hospital provided, and finding everything under the sun to talk about, especially about what had happened after he had left, though Sam didn’t share much. There were plenty of apologies thrown around from both sides. Bucky came to the hospital multiple times, but never stayed long when Steve was there. Steve could feel that something was off, even though he didn’t know what had happened.

Sam knew he needed to say something. Even though he knew that weight of what he’d been doing, letting a secret fester only to be discovered would be the worst thing Sam could do. He couldn’t change what he’d done. He could only fix it.

“Steve. Listen, I… I need to tell you something.”

Steve, slightly dazed with sleepiness, only raised his eyebrows, not seeing the need for concern. “Hmm? What is it, baby?”

“Some… things… happened while you were gone.”

Steve sat up. “I know. You told me this.”

“There was more. After I… stopped answering your calls. Which for that I’m-I’m sorry.”

“…no, you had every right to ignore me. I was being a cock.”

They both shared a laugh, though it seemed to dawn on them what exactly was happening. Sam didn’t want to think too hard about what he was about to admit. He wasn’t sure how it would end.

“Look, I- …Bucky and I… we got- _close_.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, his mouth falling open ever so slightly.

Sam immediately threw his hands out.

“Oh, God, no! I don’t- I don’t mean close as in _that_ , Steve. I just… Bucky and I started to get to know each other better. A lot better. You know how we didn’t exactly like each other very much. But that was because we had you. We didn’t need anybody else. So when you were gone, when we were left alone, we were essentially forced to talk to each other. I wanted to, because he was your best friend and he meant a lot to you and I didn’t want him to keep hating me forever. Then when he took that as me _liking_ him, I tried to let him down easy. Then he found out you weren’t straight, that dug up some buried feelings, and when I told you what he felt, it dug up some feelings there too. And I felt so… lost.” Sam paused. His last words left him with an empty mouth. He had to recomb his thoughts for the rest of the things he wanted to tell. Steve sat attentive.

“The pain I heard in your voice sounded so real—it was unlike anything I’d ever heard from you. Yet you felt it for Bucky. Everything I thought I knew about your love for me seemed irrelevant in that moment, because it was nothing compared to what you’ve felt for him. All those years, all the longing with nothing to show for it. What does that do to a person? I guess I can understand what it feels like now.”

Steve opened his mouth, but shut it with an iron glance from Sam. He wasn’t finished yet. “I know I seemed like I was angry at you, but really, I was angry at me. I felt like a fucking idiot for not realizing it. So to keep from destroying myself, I turned it on Bucky. I was bound and determined to make sure he wouldn’t take you from me. Because I thought he would. I tried to set him up. I took him out, tried to figure out what type he had, wanted to see if he was comfortable with moving on. But he wasn’t. It seemed like he only had eyes for you. I guess me, as well.”

Sam could see Steve fidget uncomfortably.

“We spent so many nights alone in that house. It was- it was confusing and stupid and selfish. Whatever relationship Bucky and I had. Whatever you might call it. You know how I told you he kissed me once? Before he knew I was taken?” A question not meant to be answered. “I kissed him once, too.”

Silence.

Sam figured. He was preparing his apology in his head, which was the hardest thing he could piece together. Nothing he could say could really make it okay. Steve beat him to it.

“I don’t know if this is supposed to be a goodbye, but you’d better not tell me it is.” 

Steve surprised Sam with this curt demand. It came out hurt, harsh, with a wavering voice and a shaking finger pointed at Sam. His eyebrows were pulled together, quivering, as he struggled against the tears that streamed down his cheeks. Steve didn’t want to be taken over by them. He still had things to say. Seeing such a face on Steve—the strongest man he’d ever known—hit Sam with lightning, which spread through all the nerves in his body. Sam could feel the corners of his mouth pull, and his nose flare, as he too began to cry.

“No. Please don’t think that,” Sam asked with desperation, his body shaking everywhere. “Come here, please.” His voice was small and broken.

Steve let out a small huff, trying to stop the ravaging in his chest, and failed. He scooted his chair closer to Sam and wrapped his arms around him. He could feel Steve’s muscles tense as he wanted to squeeze the life out of Sam, but didn’t want to hurt him. There was no telling how long they laid there like that.

After Sam was admitted from the hospital (though he wasn’t exactly healed yet) the first thing Sam wanted to do was to go out to dinner. The three of them. Steve didn’t think it was good for Sam to be getting out and exerting himself, but Sam wanted good food and the company of good friends. Steve knew that. He offered for Natasha to come, but Sam declined, considering he felt like a couple topics might come up that he wanted to keep between the three of them. Even if it was Natasha’s business.

Dinner that night was quiet on Bucky’s end. There was only friendliness throughout the table, even if it wasn’t said. Smiles were shared but glances were a little awkward. Sam wanted to make it clear to Steve to not be angry with Bucky. None of what had happened was his fault, though he didn’t exactly make it easy for either of them. Bucky was very distant with both men. Maybe he felt guilty, even though Steve didn’t blame him. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t blame himself; Sam was doing the same.

After returning home, the first thing Sam noticed was the packed bag on the couch where Bucky had been sleeping. Sam looked at it with a furl in his lips, seeing images fly through his head of what he’d done. And he cried. There was no noise. There was no shaking. Sam only curled his lips in, frustrated and disappointed. He let his own self-doubt, and his lack of trust in Steve consume him. He couldn’t be blamed for it. He knew that. But he would still continue to fear. And he would need reassurance from time to time. That would be the only thing he could really do to keep from convincing himself that he wasn’t wanted. Because after all that had happened, he knew the truth. He was. There was no telling how long it might take for him to be able to know that with confidence. There would always be doubt there. But that was okay. Sam knew who he could rely on.

Nobody noticed the struggle going on in Sam’s mind until he briskly snatched up the packed bag and turned to look at the men in the dining room. Steve looked concerned, but for the most part confused. Bucky, however, knew what was happening, and curled in on himself in shame. Sam made a show of walking to the guest bedroom and flinging the door open. He motioned for Bucky to follow him, which he did with hesitation, as well as Steve. Sam put the bag on the bed, looked at Bucky, and only said one thing.

“Unpack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love is never perfect, but that doesn't mean it's bad. It is a lot like the people that belong to it. The warmth and kindness of it makes someone fear losing it. And that fear can warp and scar and manipulate. It is a careful walk on a tightrope, where any wrong move can lead to a fall. Just because you’ve been on the ground doesn’t mean you can’t regain your balance. That’s why there’s always someone else with you.


End file.
